Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, April 19, 1994 TAG: 9404190122
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: EXTRA-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KATHLEEN WILSON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
When the music started to play, he gently took her hand and asked her to dance. And like any two people who have never danced together before, they shuffled a bit unsurely at first.
``We're almost as good as in `Scent of a Woman,''' he whispered, breaking the tension.
She laughed.
Then he mentioned her perfume.
And once again, she blushed.
She was a good dancer, he told her. A rare find these days.
``Who else is going to bring you... a broken arrow,'' he sang softly as they danced. ``Who else is going to bring you a bottle of rain.''
She loved that song.
How did he know that?
He was tall and blond and handsome. A complete gentleman.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. And from time to time she had to pinch herself. Not to remind herself that this was real. To remind herself that it was not.
For in her heart and in her soul, she was wearing her favorite black velvet dress in a fancy restaurant, dancing in the arms of a gentleman on the most lovely evening she'd had in a long, long time.
In reality, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, sitting in front of a computer terminal in a noisy room filled with others working on a Friday evening, engaged in a conversation with a man in Connecticut she'd never even met.
|n n| Kathleen33 met Bob344 on a Tuesday night at 7:30.
She was cruising through the Flirts Nook, a gathering place for singles on America Online, the latest and trendiest stretch of the much-touted information superhighway.
She'd been searching for just the right guy. Someone to date - well, cyberdate - for a week or so, to see what all the commotion was about.
It would make a good story, everyone figured.
But a week of chatting in the Flirts Nook hadn't quite produced the dream date she was looking for.
Or a story you could print in a family newspaper.
On most nights, it yielded questions like, ``Hey, Kathleen. What color panties are you wearing?'' and ``How impressive are your breasts?''
So on Tuesday night, she wasn't talking. She sat there for an hour watching the other 22 people in the Flirts Nook doing their thing.
Until 7:30 when the computer terminal made a sound just like the one the fairy godmother's wand made right as it turned a pumpkin into a coach in ``Cinderella.''
It's the sound signaling that someone is sending you what they call an instant message. One that only you and the sender can see.
``Hi, Kath. Why so quiet?'' Bob344 wanted to know.
``Hey, I like that! You called me Kath,'' Kathleen33 responded.
Bob344: ``Why did u like that?''
Kathleen33: ``Most people only call me Kathleen when I'm in trouble. Friends call me Kathy. But real pals call me Kath.''
Bob344: ``Well, I'm not a real pal yet, but I think I'm OK. So thanks.''
This was promising. Three whole sentences and not one question about underwear. Or lack there of.
Kathleen33: ``Tell me all about you. I'm intrigued. I work for a newspaper and am trying to do an article about cyberdating.''
He was smart. A 36-year-old career Navy guy in Connecticut. He was fun. He was G-rated. He seemed cute. And in addition to blond hair and blue eyes, he promised ``excellent conversation and wit. So I think if the bod didn't get you, the mind would.''
Bingo.
Bob344: ``You say you are doing an article. How can I help?''
Kathleen33: ``I need someone to cyberdate for a week or so. You game? By the way, your mind and wit have already gotten me.''
Bob344: ``Well, sure. I'm interested. But you know I'd be wary at first. You know the honesty of some people on line.''
As he launched into typing a message, she decided to check him out by trying to see if he'd filed a profile about himself in the computer. For just a second, a profile flashed on the screen.
A profile for a lesbian named Libby who lived in North Carolina.
Kathleen33 was fuming.
She confronted him. On the computer.
Bob344: ``I am not a lesbian! I don't have a profile in the computer! It must be some sort of glitch! You can call me at work tomorrow to verify my gender!''
Kathleen33: ``No. You can call me.''
And never expected to hear from Bob, er, Libby - whoever - again.
|n n| ``I am not a lesbian named Libby!'' declared the 6-foot 5-inch sailor from Connecticut with the born-in-Brooklyn accent when he called the very next day.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He had a wonderful voice.
She was utterly charmed. They talked for just a few minutes before he told her he'd be in touch via the computer about their cyberdate.
She spent the rest of the day racing to the terminal to see if he'd messaged her.
The dinner invitation came later that day.
Bob344: ``I have to tell you that I really enjoyed our phone conversation. It is nice to know that just once I've met a `real' person behind the screen. A major computer milestone.
``For tomorrow's date, I suggest a romantic dinner for two. An elegant French restaurant. Old style Deep chairs. More silver than the U.S. Mint, crystal, china and a fresh-cut orchid on the table.
``Je reviens, Robert. (pronounced RRRRobearrrr)''
|n n| The next night, after two hours that included talk about how great the food was, he ordered the veal. And sipping wine in a French restaurant that existed only in their minds and on a computer screen, they learned a lot about one another.
Bob344: ``Do you feel like I feel? Can we make that part of the deal?''
He continued to sing ``Broken Arrow'' softly as they danced - all by tapping on keyboards separated by some 600 miles.
Bob344: ``I want to hold you in my arms of steel. Put your heart on the line. This time.''
It was only a story, she kept telling herself.
But it was getting out of hand somehow.
Bob344: ``Tell me about our dance.''
Kathleen33: ``I feel warm and safe. But I'm afraid to look up at you. I don't want this to end.''
Bob344: ``Look up. I'm running the back of my hand gently along your cheek bone, stopping my index finger at your lips.''
She wanted to bail out. It was scary.
Kathleen33: ``I feel all of this. It seems so real. I'm afraid I'm going to cry.''
Bob344: ``Because this is cyberdating, maybe?''
Kathleen33: ``Right. It isn't real. It just feels like it is.''
Bob344: ``I know. You need to talk? For real? I can call.
She decided it would be best if he walked her to her car.
Bob344: ``I'm helping you on with your coat. And I'm hugging you. I had a lovely evening, Kathy.''
|n n| There aren't many people who understand a dinner and dance in the restaurant that existed only in their imaginations on a computer screen. Their friends laughed. For a while.
They exchanged e-mail. He learned to send roses (--
--
--). She learned to send broken arrows (>>>--- -->).
But over the days and weeks that followed, they shared their hopes, dreams, family horror stories, bad days, good days, failed relationships, laughs, tears and photographs.
She sent him books.
He sent her poetry. Roses. Bottles of wine. Real ones.
They did this all by mail. The U.S. Postal variety.
And during long and lingering long-distance phone calls.
Bob344 and Kathleen33 have no plans to meet on-line again.
``Some things were just not meant to be said on a computer screen,'' one of his last e-mail messages explained.
Kathleen33 and Bob344 will meet for the first time next month. They plan to have dinner and dance. For real.
by CNB